The Gift of Hate
by Casus Angelus
Summary: Marked forever with the sign of the Shadow, the young man will know the fate he has been given. Whether he follows it or not isn't up to him, but even a man with the gift of gods can fight to change it.
1. The Coming

Imprinted upon the face of the planet stood a man, running through the ever- night wood. Looking around cautiously he kept his pace-he couldn't stop-not with what he had seen. Someone had to know, even if it meant his death. Fatigued, he ran on, thick lines of sweat no longer left the moist line behind them; they covered his face, his skin drenched in sweat, yet he still ran.  
  
Thoughts raced through his mind of the scene he had witnessed. They had to be warned. Too many shall die if he fails.  
  
Relorn remembered clearly what his eyes had seen; the image was imprinted in his mind, never to be forgotten while he still lived. Armies of thousands, all following the sign of the Shadow; the very wrath that plagues the society of Norrath. His too-young eyes fell upon them accidentally. He knew he shouldn't have seen it, but he had.  
  
***  
  
Pulling his sword from his waist Relorn looked at his target, his pray, a fair sized spider scurrying itself along the floor of the mountains of Butcher Block. Far away from the nearest city, home of the Dwarves, he kept his target and followed it silently. Relorn had learned quickly that a few silk threads from this insect could pay for food for himself for weeks on end. But then Relorn heard it, sounds of a deeply involved conversation not far from him. He stopped dead in his tracks as certain words perked his ears.  
  
"The foul city of Kelethin is unaware sir. Our scouts have reported no sign of our traveling thus far."  
  
"That, my minion, is good, for you and for your men. The slightest word of our movement would mean your spilled blood on my blade. Now be gone. We are to travel into the Greater Faydark by the time the sun sets tonight. Innoruuk's fury shall be released tomorrow at sunrise. Kelethin shall fall, I assure you of that. Now leave and make sure our path ahead has no witnesses. Dispose of their bodies like the rest."  
  
Muffled movements reached Relorn's ears as two final words were spoken.  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Relorn shook with terror, forgetting his prey. He stood there, shaking, as the sound of many footsteps approached him. He panicked and ran- he had no choice. Turning quickly Relorn ran and never looked back. Hearing a yell behind him as many angry voices filled the air, he never slowed his running. Many feather-shafted arrows pelted the forest floor around young Relorn, yet he kept running.  
  
He had followed the deserted, quiet path the whole way into the foggy Greater Faydark, and yet he still ran to reach someone, anyone. Suddenly, he came to a halt. A small dust cloud, proof of his hurry, erupted from beneath the man, circulating around his worn cloth sandals and then diminishing. Relorn's chest heaved, his breathing raspy and his face a beet red. Relorn stopped as the second figure stood motionless, facing him. The man stood with his head hunched over in the middle of the path through the quiet woods, a clean, night-black robe covering him. The hood was pulled tightly over his head, hiding his face. Long red symbols were imprinted down the front of the robe, their meanings known only to Scribes and the Ancients. Yet the man stood there, firmly in his place. Relorn knew the man was aware of his presence.  
  
"Sir, please, I need to get by! I have urgent news for the city of Kelethin! It will determine the fate of the city itself!"  
  
Relorn walked up to the man as he spoke and rested a hand on the figure's shoulder before staggering back. His eyes caught the man's flesh-a small amount of the man's skin around his collar was visible in the misty evening. The dark blue flesh seared into Relorn's mind. Taken aback, he stumbled farther away.  
  
"You young, foolish boy. I am sorry about what I must do."  
  
The man's voice was full of ease and swiftness, yet to Relorn it was all too familiar.  
  
"The voice." his thoughts trailing off for a moment. It struck Relorn then like a stone in the gut. The voice from earlier.  
  
"You. You. How could you have gotten past me, I ran the whole way here, with no followers! Not even the Shadow could have kept up with me."  
  
Laughing, the Dark Elf raised his head, looking into Relorn's eyes with a strange darkness. His blue skin seemingly glowed in the mist-filled forest. His green eyes hammered down into Relorn's.  
  
"Must I repeat myself? Foolish is what you are, boy. The Shadow is far greater then you may ever comprehend, our tricks outnumber the Light's. Foolish. You know more then you need, and for that you shall die."  
  
The evil words slipped from the shadowy figure, each word holding the same sureness that struck fear through Relorn's soul. With the last words, the elf flicked two fingers from beneath the long arms of his robe. Many more shadowy figures held the same outline in the forest behind the man.  
  
Relorn, scared and confused, stumbled forward past the man and ran. Passing the line of figures, he ran with new strength, yet couldn't help but notice that not one of the figures moved the slightest bit as he passed. Running still, Relorn didn't get far before the whizzing sound of arrows stung the air around him. Many, many arrows had been shot, Relorn knew this, yet all missed but one. They landed around and into the earth in front of him, causing an abrupt stop to Relorn's getaway. But one didn't miss. Flung through the air, it entered Relorn's back, easily breaking through the barrier of flesh and into his body before breaking the flesh a second time, through his chest. A cry of pain bellowed through the forest as Relorn fell to his knees, warm liquid flowing down from his wound. Scrambling to his feet, Relorn still never heard even the faintest sound of movement from the figures not far from him. His brown eyes squinted painfully as he stared into the forest ahead.  
  
"I'm close, I have to be." he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Yet so very far away, foolish boy."  
  
The words struck such fear in Relorn's body, echoing through his bones and traveling through his streaming blood. The voice came from in front of him. A cry of pain was emitted from Relorn again but this time not from a wound. The man walked up to Relorn, moving swiftly and steadily, his dark eyes locked with the wounded young man's.  
  
"The Shadow conquers all, foolish boy. You shall be yet another proven test of this."  
  
A small, devilish grin flashed briefly on the Dark Elf's features.  
  
"Now run, you vile creature. Run as far as you can make it."  
  
Without another breath, Relorn ran fast as he could, hampered by the pain aching throughout his chest.  
  
"He is surrounded by my men and wounded, yet still he thinks he can finish the run to the city."  
  
Relorn ran still. He hadn't made it far when he noticed a glow being emitted from somewhere behind him, yet he never slowed his pace. The glow grew brighter still; fighting all urges to turn back, Relorn ran. Now the ground around him shone with the bright orange-red light. Relorn knew what the glow was and stopped running, falling to his knees he yelled at the top of his lungs.  
  
"INNORU."  
  
The words were never finished.  
  
Relorn last remembered the bright light flaring around him as the flaming sensation filled his bones, burning with incredible pain and heat. But that is all Relorn would ever remember, for after that a few ashes spread the open green ocean of grass of the forest, the only remnants of the man.  
  
"Foolish boy."  
  
Turning to a recently arrived figure next to him, the man spoke up without ever making eye contact with the second Dark Elf.  
  
"Are the troops ready?"  
  
The second man nodded quickly.  
  
"Has word from Lord D'Vinn arrived?"  
  
Again the man nodded quickly.  
  
"Good, take the troops to our camp for the night. I will arrive shortly after you do. I must first speak to one of our Shadows hiding within the walls of the Elven city."  
  
Nodding again-the man knew better then question his superior-he spun where we stood and faced the men and women surrounding them. Rows and rows of the dark figures stood, their numbers countless, and more were on the way. The army shifted uneasily in the silence. Some held the Dark Elven blue skin, others were promised followers of the great god of Hate, Innoruuk, while others, from all over the forsaken planet, were here for the battle to finally show the Light that the Shadow shall always conquer it.  
  
"Everyone move out Northwest until the word to set up camp is given."  
  
The stern tone of the man's voice held in the crowd as they obeyed and moved all in the direction, some checking their compasses, others already having the talent and automatically headed that way.  
  
***  
  
The siege of Kelethin is near. As the sun rises the next morning, dyeing the early morning sky with a deep red, thus shall the ground carry the same color. Fallen fighters, heroes or not, shall all be destroyed. All for one motive, known only to a god and his most trusted follower, to find one man. The one man who holds the very gift to channel Dark Arts that even the Ancients have not seen. He himself shall become a god with the power; the gift of Innoruuk's Hate had been given to an unaware soul.  
  
Marked forever with the sign of the Shadow, the young man will know the fate he has been given. Whether he follows it or not isn't up to him, but even a man with the gift of gods can fight to change it.  
  
  
  
Well there is the first chapter. Wrote this at 5am and was a bit tired, anyhow tell me what you all think by R & Ring it, who knows maybe I might finish it.  
  
Btw, Thanks Amanda. Without her and her damn perfect English this story would be in total crap format. spelling mistakes and such would have been everywhere. Thanks hon ;-)  
  
Casus Angelus 


	2. Taint of the Shadow

The body lay motionless in the dusty, forgotten room, the inhabitants unknowing; kept that way under extensive work by the figure inside.  
  
Widil laid there, his eyes moving rapidly, as if searching for something under his gently closed lids. His left arm was strung over his eyes to block out any light, his right arm held in the same careless position as the afternoon earlier when he had thrown himself on the rotting age-too-old-to-be-known bed. The bed had held to his pressing weight, but not without its cries of stress.  
  
The moon now held itself in the sky; not that any of the inhabitants of the Greater Faydark would see this, though. The thick evergreen canopy of trees covered the endless valley of the forest; the thick fog wound around every tree and figure that populated the endless stretch of nature. All of these are the certain qualities of this Faydark that kept it quiet even with the city of Kelethin's high population. It was quiet in the Greater Faydark, too quiet for a place where so many Shadows now lay hidden. Still, not one of the light-followers noticed the unnatural calmness of the day before they would die.  
  
The motionless body in the forgotten hut was stirring. Widil violently flung himself from the rough bed to his feet. He stood for only a quick moment before crouching, resting himself on the heels of each foot. He grabbed quickly for the axe that lay beneath him and the long sword that lay to his side. Each blade was held tightly in Widil's white-knuckled, pressing hands. The devoted follower of the Shadow's eyes strained as they glared, searching the area before him. Before long, his eyes and tense body eased. Both hands, gripping their weapons, soon relaxed and fell to his side. Standing now, his body gave off the same tired burn he has felt for as long as his corrupted mind could remember.  
  
He blinked now, as if to rid himself of the threatening exhaustion, but still he didn't waste time. The Shadow within this room had an important meeting tonight over the events to take place at sunrise. Moving swiftly, Widil left the hut, pressing hard against the stubborn door. The hinges gave way with a painful screech of old age as the heavy door clasped in Widil's hand moved, opening the way for him. Into the night Widil strode, his jet-black plated armor glistening darkly in the mist. His deep black cloak flapping wildly behind him, the soft wind brushed through Widil's dark hair like a caress.  
  
Widil closed his eyes lazily and opened them again to look out from the highest platform by far throughout Kelethin. Sighing deeply and with a face of disgust, his eyes scanned city. Widil walked to the nearest ledge, a sheer drop-off to the ground far below. The mist, as usual, was too thick to see; it covered the area below him thoroughly, making the trees seem the fingers of nature grasping out from the vapor. Widil's boots clunked against the wood floor, but he tried to keep his paces near silent. Directing his attention to the ground he knew was there below him somewhere, Widil glanced around carefully for patrolling guards or drunken fools who may have caught a glimpse of the him striding about, carrying the signs of the Shadow within his very soul. Without a second thought, Widil leapt from his spot. The only sign of him was a slight swoosh of air and a black blur.  
  
He landed softly, a light thud the only mark of his passing. Widil's eyes peered around the foggy trees surrounding him before he shook himself off and started out into the dense forest. His pace was soft and slow, keeping his steps silent as if stalking prey. He kept his mind attached to where he now headed, through the dark night.  
  
Mlaar stood motionless in a clearing of trees awaiting his visitor. He sighed impatiently, as if the one he waited for was running late. He had no time for this nonsense. Yet Mlaar still waited for the man. His master would be displeased if he missed the meeting with the bard.  
  
"Where are you, fool? My army awaits my orders and we are close to the great Battle of Kelethin."  
  
Soft words rose from behind the man. Mlarr was unable locate the speaker, the words swirling around his head.  
  
"I am here milord. What is it you wish?"  
  
"Where are you, infidel?" Mlaar barked out the order in a stern voice.  
  
"I am here, milord. Where else?" Widil walked forward toward Mlaar, facing him. Widil's face held the same emotionless look as usual. He looked deep into Mlaar's eyes.  
  
"Our battle is nearing, bard. I need to know the news of our subject and of our preparations." Mlaar spoke impatiently.  
  
"Milord, the orcs of the Crushbone Clan are ready for the signal and Felwithe is taken care of. As far as I have been able to find out, Kelethin is unprepared as expected, milord."  
  
"And of our subject?"  
  
"The Half-Elf is the same as the last report, milord."  
  
"Good, good bard. You have done well. Now I must go; there is still much to be done before the siege is followed through. May Innoruuk rule Norrath. Power of Hate, bard." Mlaar brought his left hand up and firmly placed it upon his right breast and bowed slightly to Widil.  
  
"Power of Hate, milord." Widil repeated Mlaar's actions, bowing lower than Mlaar had.  
  
Widil backed away from the clearing slowly, before long the thick fog engulfed him. Mlaar left his sight within moments. Not even the thin outline of his body was visible to Widil's trained sight. A few brief minutes later Widil was back at the base of Kelethin awaiting the large wooden lift to lower itself to him. The guards paid no mind to the bard and he was soon lifted to the city high above the forest floor. Widil headed back to the deserted, rotting hut where the rest of his things rested in a beat-up trunk. He would need them all for the events planned in a short while.  
  
* * *  
  
Tunare paced within her plain, forest life wandering around her. The very life of the earth grew with every step of her feet and of every touch of her hands. She spoke softly.  
  
"How are my children of the forest surviving? Well, I hope." Tunare waved a hand through the air in front of her. It changed, blurring, then cleared. It now showed a window-type view of the Greater Faydark.  
  
The Mother of Life looked through the great shades of green of many treetops shown through the window of nature. Her face held a smile, quickly replaced with a questioning look.  
  
"What is this force that taints the land of my children?"  
  
Tunare looked deeper into the forest. She spotted the disturbance easily enough. Countless numbers of dark figures marched through the ocean of her forest. She spoke loudly as if talking to the forces of nature surrounding her.  
  
"My children! How dare you threaten my children! You all shall pay the price for trespassing upon my land! You shall all suffer my wraith!"   
  
Tunare waved her hand again, and her view focused on the grand city in the treetops of Kelethin. She knew she had to warn her children of the plague of beings that walked through their land. A dark shadow crept over her plane, surrounding the inhabitants, swallowing them in darkness. Tunare knew now her own lands were plagued with this newfound darkness.  
  
A hand wrapped itself around Tunare's arm and held it tightly as a dark, bone-chilling voice filled the air.  
  
"You shall not interfere with these planes, milady."  
  
Tunare breathed deeply and raised her voice.  
  
"Innoruuk! You have broken the rule of the gods. You have trespassed upon another god's plane! You shall be banished by all others for this!"  
  
"The others can do nothing about me if they must grovel before my feet! Now, milady, do as I say or your plane will be poisoned by the wraith of the Shadow. Obey me and all will be left as it was."  
  
Tunare's mind raced, thinking of alternatives. Finally, she lowered her head, letting her window to the Faydark close. It disappeared in a puff of air, hope for her children gone with it.  
  
* * *  
  
Kelethin was ghostlike in the forest air, the everlasting mist blurring its outline. Kelethin itself held little light, not even enough to pick up the faint outlines of thousands upon thousands of figures surrounding the city. No swords were drawn, no sign was given, but the figures radiated an easy win already. The sun rose slowly, tinting the sky a deep blood red.  
  
So the much-awaited morning of the falling of Kelethin had come, and every dark force of Norrath that could be used as a weapon stood in the Greater Faydark now, to lead the Shadow to victory. 


End file.
